


shrike

by unbreakable_groundriot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Background Aziraphale/Crowley, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Maggot Husbands, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, background ineffable husbands, he/him pronouns for Beelzebub, she/her pronouns for Beelzebub
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20265058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbreakable_groundriot/pseuds/unbreakable_groundriot
Summary: "Another bad dream?"Hastur feels a rough hand gently pulling his arm. "What..?" He opens his eyes and sees Ligur looking down at him with fond exasperation."Poor pet, eh? Always having nightmares these days."Tags to be added





	1. Chapter 1

It starts, as it will end, with love.

Love is a funny thing. Humans can feel love, certainly. Angels are born loving everything. Rumor has it that demons cannot feel love. That is simply false. No, most demons choose not to feel love. They fill that hole with Lust and Greed and Wrath. They fuck each other with no attachment. They do not court or hold hands or write love letters. They fuck. They leave. But not all demons. Heaven had once encouraged _fraternizing_, as they called it. Supposedly it helped build bonds or something or the other.

And so some demons felt love. Some cried for lovers lost in the War. Some longed for lovers still above them in Heaven. Some were lucky enough to find love in the damp halls of Hell. Demonic love was a fierce, powerful thing that reeked of jealousy and desire.

Their quarters were massive by Hell’s standards. It was large enough to cram in a stolen queen mattress, a desk, and little else in the way of furniture. The extra space was taken up by trinkets from Earth that had caught their fancy. He collected those strange vinyl figurines with the square heads and the big black eyes. His partner kept a wide variety of molds attached to ceramic busts of various human things.

The molds were dying now. He hadn’t even known mold could die.

The Apocalypse had been averted. The world had been reset and yet he was alone. Ligur was dead. Ligur had not come back. He had searched and searched and filled out so many requests for information that his hand had cramped for days.

Nothing.

The others look at him with pity now. He wants to rip out their tongues and their eyes and eat them. He wants to claw at their faces and bite into their throats. He wanted to teach them that looking upon Hastur, Duke of Hell with pity was a mistake.

He is Hastur, Duke of Hell. He has power and authority! He is someone!

He _was_ someone.

The bastard Crowley had had Ligur’s clothes sent down in a box. They stung his hands with holy residue but it didn’t stop him from holding them close. Their bed still smelled of Ligur, but the scent faded with every passing minute.

Hastur, Duke Of Hell, was absolutely miserable.

They had always been Hastur and Ligur. They had crawled out of the pit together. They had bonded right away and ruthlessly rose through the ranks to become high ranking, respected demons. There couldn’t just be a Hastur.

There was only a Hastur.

God made them apart. Hastur has been made as a Watcher with wide black eyes that saw everything around him. He’d been beautiful then with round cheeks and floppy white hair. Ligur had been a Moon Builder. He used his wits to command the other builders to craft the structure with ease. He had been handsome with eyes that shifted with his moods. They had known each other then. Ligur had offered the shy Watcher his hand and never let go. They Fell together hand in hand with no fear of what was to come. They had each other.

But now he was alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Hastur whimpers. He presses his bare hand into his mouth and bites deep into the junction between his thumb and index finger. Blood flows freely from the wound as he whines high and loud. Ligur isn’t there to gently scold him and force him to stop.

He bites again and again and again until he’s soaked in blood. He's not sure where his hand is. What is he biting now?

His head goes fuzzy and he loses consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Another bad dream?"

Hastur feels a rough hand gently pulling his arm. "What..?" He opens his eyes and sees Ligur looking down at him with fond exasperation.   
"All the way off this time... All them noises you was making I thought it was a good dream."

Hastur watches as his hand is lifted and inspected. It oozes black ichor and maggots that squirm on the stained bed. Ligur sighs and presses it back onto the bleeding stump of Hastur's wrist. It hurts, but it's a pain he's never learned to dislike. "Ligur? You're not dead?"

There's an oomph, an unpleasant squishing, and then low laughter as Hastur throws himself at Ligur. They land in the bloodstain and crush the handful of maggots that hadn't been lapped up by Ligur's reptilian attachment.

"Course I'm not dead. What put that in your head?" He strokes the back of Hastur's head until his frog gets annoyed and hops right off of his head. In its place is a shock of white hair that stands every which way. The little creature is never gone for long but it hated to be touched too much.  
"I...The bastard Crowley killed you. In...My dream? Dropped a," he swallowed at the memory, "bucket of holy water. You screamed. You died." His voice quivered.   
"That bit wasn't a dream, babe. Remember? Kicked the door first. Not even a drop got on us. We ain't stupid." The thick fingers scratch at his newly freed scalp. "M'not leaving you any time soon so stop your whining."

Hastur kisses his partner slow and lazy with just a hint of manic energy to give the kiss some real flavor. The memories are blurry, but Ligur is here with him and that's all he cares about.

"Not whining. I got scared." They're softer when they're alone. Softness is unacceptable around the lesser demons, but alone in their quarters, they can just be. It's almost like it was in Heaven. Almost.

Ligur's eyes are a calming green. He looks as fond as a demon can manage. "You're too sensitive." He rolls them over and presses Hastur close. Neither mind the smell of demonic blood or the stickiness of it as it soaks through their clothes. "Nothing's gonna keep me away from you."

The brush of his straw straight hair is soothing. Sometimes things become too much. There's too much sound and too much light. There's too much noise or too much silence. Ligur always knows what he needs.

"Go back to sleep. You look tired." He uses his thumb to pull his lower lid open. "N'when you wake up I want to fuck you bloody." He grins wide and perfectly demonic.   
Hastur rolls his eyes. "That all you think about?"  
"With you around? Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

He had been created to Watch. He and his brothers and sisters were created with black eyes that betrayed no emotion. They gleefully reported everything they saw to the higher up angels. There was no malice in their tattling. Their mission was the same as all of the others: Create a perfect world.

But Hastur had never enjoyed any of it. He wasn't like his siblings. They flitted around silent and wide-eyed during their work shift, then they chattered amongst each other and with the other angels. They reported their findings and reveled in the praise. Hastur hid among the stone waiting to be formed into the Moon. The other angels were too loud. The newly formed Sun was too bright. When night was invented it was terrifying. He didn't like the change.

"Thought Watchers were supposed to be silent observers."

Hastur's whine grows louder at the intruder. He'd found a stone with a hole bored into it that he'd turned into a makeshift nest. He'd pushed soft clouds into the corners and the feathers he ripped from his own wings littered the floor. No one was supposed to find him, but the sky wasn't supposed to suddenly go dark either.

The angel who has intruded is... Well, he isn't sure what he looks like yet. He had curled up in the farthest corner of the artificial cave and hidden in his wings. They were patchy and bloody from where he liked to pick at the feathers. Golden blood oozed from a slow scabbing wound where he'd ripped out a handful of coverts in an attempt calm himself. It hadn't worked.

Heavy footsteps grow closer and he tries to silence himself. A high whine escapes his throat as he rips into the fleshy part of his hand. He's covered in self-inflicted wounds. Sometimes everything became too much and he needed the control.

"You look like shit. How long have you been in here?" He's face to face with the angel now. Fingers strong from manual labor manage to pry his wings apart and then force his hand from his mouth with a gentleness that shouldn’t seem so effortless. This angel is dark-skinned and his eyes shift in color from calm blue to a slightly alarmed pale orange. He's seen him before. He's the head Moon Builder. He's broad and strong and has a fire behind his eyes that is one part kind and two parts devious.

The whine grows into a hoarse whimper that isn't unlike a toad barking for a mate. He shakes his head, but that causes black spots to appear in his vision. He can't remember the last time he had gone to collect his rations and there was the whole matter of near constant blood loss.

The Moon Builder's wing-tips glow suddenly to light up the nest. The light is dim and doesn't hurt his eyes like the Sun. "You're alright. Are you scared of the dark? Weren't there for the meeting, yeah?" He speaks low and soothing and not at all like the angels who make fun of him by speaking slow and loud and mocking. "They call it night. Comes after day and then day comes back."

Hastur swallows. Night. Day will come back. He sees no hint of lies in this angel. Watcher sight is useful like that. "M'scared of crowds." He croaks out. Blood coats his mouth and teeth and tongue like molten gold.

"It is pretty crowded." The angel agrees. "Ligur. I'm Ligur. I've seen you poking out of here a few times. Just assumed I always missed you when you left to make your reports... But you've been here hiding away, haven't you?"  
A slow nod.  
"That's alright. It's not so bad here. Bit bloody. You need a healer."

"No." This time he nearly blacks out from standing too quickly. "No. I'm staying here. Go away. Okay. Goodbye."

Ligur stands and pats his hands together as if trying to clean them of dirt. "Then I'll bring him here. Can you even fly with your wings like that?"  
"...The feathers grow back. It just takes time." He averts his eyes. He hates eye contact. The other angels called him nasty things when they saw his eyes. Watchers weren't trusted.

Ligur doesn't move. He doesn't try to corner him. Hastur could slip by the shorter angel at any moment. "I'll get you help. I could hear you from the surface." He gestures toward where the half-finished Moon floats.  
"I'm a Watcher!"  
"M'yeah. I can see that. You stay here and I'll get somebody that can heal. I can't do it for shit."

Hastur wrings his hands. His filthy wings twitch. "You still want to help me?"  
Ligur grins. His eyes are bright yellow like the sun. "I heard about that vision of yours. Seems right useful. I'm jealous. I put rocks together and you get to sit pretty and watch. Let me help. Might be useful but I bet it's scary too." He holds out his hand and doesn't so much as flinch when a hand covered in blood and spit and snot is placed there.

Pretty. No one had ever called him pretty.

"Hastur." He whispers. "I'm Hastur."


	4. Chapter 4

"It's just a meeting with Beelzebub. He likes you." Ligur tugs his own dark coat over Hastur's body. It's technically too small for the taller demon, but clothes in Hell don't really care about things like size.   
"Alone." Hastur strokes the soft fur lining the collar of the coat. "I haven't been called for a meeting alone in...Ever." His frog croaks in agreement.

"You'll be fine. S'probably some bullshit about Crowley and the angel fucking him." Ligur grabs him by the neck and pulls him down for a kiss that leaves his mouth oozing blood from a rip in his tongue caused by sharp, eager teeth. "Go on. I'll be waitin' for you." Ligur licks his bloody lips. He uses his thumb to wipe the staining black ichor from Hastur's mouth.

He hesitates but the pain in his mouth calms the storm inside of his mind. Demons part as he stalks the cramped halls of Hell. Blood still drips from his mouth where he chews his tongue for the simple desire for stimulation.

"Duke Hastur." Beelzebub's fly cowers slightly at the sight of Hastur's frog. The two have a complicated relationship. "Swallow the blood before you speak pleazzze." She taps a stack of paperwork straight before setting it down. Neatly stacked, it sits for about 3 seconds before shifting and sliding into a total disorganized mess on the floor. She snaps and it flies back into her hand.

Hastur obeys and swallows the blood that has collected in his mouth. He swallows again and a large part of his tongue slides down his throat. His frog croaks, hiccups, and a small amount of blood leaks from the corner of its green mouth. "Er... You thummoned me?"

Beelzebub keeps tapping the stack of papers. His fingers clench and twitch. "Yezzz. After everything that occurred we," she gestures vaguely, "thought it would be bezzzt for you to take a break from everything. Don't worry about your quotazzz or paperwork."

Tap tap tap.

There's suddenly a strong hand curled into his left hand before he can snap and force the papers to melt away. Ligur grins at him and throws him a multicolored wink. "Relax, babe. Not worth it."

"Duke Hastur. Hastur. Hastur!"

His black eyes refocus on the demon before him. "I azzzked if you understand." A quick shake of his head causes her to sigh though it seems more pained than angry. Her fly buzzes out its annoyance, but it's never liked Hastur much.

"Again? Hastur... We have been over thizzz." She stands and somehow seems to take up far more space than she rightfully should. He finds himself shrinking as she steps up to him. Her hands rest on his cheeks not unlike a sympathetic mother soothing a child with a skinned knee. "Did you see him in your room again, Hastur? Izzz that where Ligur izzz?" Her voice is a low buzz.

"What're you talking about?" His tongue has grown back. He resists the urge to bite into it again. "He's right here." Ligur grins at him unchanging and unmoving.

"We are alone, Hastur. No one elzzze is here." Her thumbs stroke over his gaunt cheeks as the room feels hotter and hotter.   
"No. He's right here." He gestures weakly to the still unmoving Ligur.   
"Ligur is dead, Hastur. We've told you thizzz again and again. You must move on. He is extinct."

A high whine breaks from his throat before his mind truly registers what happens. Ligur frowns suddenly and then he's gone. Hastur shakes his head back and forth and back and forth. Beelzebub guides him to the ground as his legs fail him.

"Oh, Hastur..."

* * *

"Don't pick." Ligur reminds without even having to glance over his shoulder where Hastur is pressed against him. "I didn't trade my rations to have you healed again for nothing."

"Sorry." He curls his hands into Ligur's dusty robe to keep himself from picking at one of the black gems decorating his cheeks. They're a new addition gently pressed into his skin by the other angel.

"Know you don't mean it," Ligur assures. He uses a piece of graphite to mark the plans for the growing Moon. He's filthy from a day of flying through moon dust and raw stone but Hastur can't find it in himself to care. His perfectly white robes are stained from dirty hands and close, reassuring touches.

He peeks over Ligur's broad shoulder and tries to make sense of the plans. The Moon is important for...some reason he can't remember. It will be important to the new planet forming below them. "Drozil isn't working properly. The Moon does not look like that." He whispers into his shoulder.

"You see that, did you?" He can't tell if the annoyance radiating from Ligur is directed at him or something else.   
"Mmhm." He whines. His fingers curl tighter into the cloth and he squeezes his eyes shut.   
"Look at me, Hastur. I'm not upset with you. Look at me." It's not necessarily a command but he obeys with another whine. Ligur takes his hands so he can turn to properly look at him. His eyes shift from red to a hazy blue.  
"I saw it. He ignores the plans. He doesn't look at them."

Watchers see that which they are meant to see, or that's what Gabriel had told them when they were created. Hastur had been assigned to see the Moon Builders and report to Uriel. He saw them all when he chose to focus on them, but focusing was so hard when so many things were going on at once. Watchers whispered their findings with wide black eyes that begged for praise. Other angels feared them and often hid from them or they tried to butter them up with kind words as if that would save them from a bad review. None of the angels had ever feared him before Hastur had found him. He liked the power he found he now held.

"I will deal with him then." He strokes his thumb over Hastur's bitten bottom lip to sooth the skin there. "You're so pretty. Have I told you that? My pretty thing."

Hastur averts his eyes and smiles. "Yes." He assumes it's a real question. "I like when you say it."

* * *

"Another bad dream?"

Hastur feels a rough hand gently pulling his arm. "What..?" He opens his eyes and sees Ligur looking down at him with fond exasperation. 

"Poor pet, eh? Always having nightmares these days."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually use they/them pronouns for Bee, but I think the pronouns depend on who they're talking to. Hastur sees Bee as a woman most likely because she's a maternal figure for him. Ligur sees them as male for reasons unknown.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I don’t tag everything in a fic as it gives the story away. Uh... This chapter might be a little rough.

A single silver feather. He'd always had it and Ligur had always plucked it for him when it inevitably grew back. It always felt like plucking a single nose hair and Ligur was forced to snatch the feather out when Hastur wasn't paying attention.

It hurt.

Again and again and again and again.

He slowly pulled another lesser covert from his gold stained wings. The pain brought tears to his eyes but the stimulation caused his mind to go peacefully blank.

"Again, Hastur? My pretty thing... What have you seen?"

He slowly looks up as Ligur nears him. The angel's eyes are sad, pale grey. His robes are clean. Hastur can't remember why he isn't dirty. He's always covered in dust from the construction of the Moon.

Hastur sees something dark surrounding Ligur. It's angry and jealous and gorgeous. "You were with Lucifer."

Strong hands hold onto his own blood soaked, nail bitten ones. "Yeah. He and I needed to talk. You and me too."  
"Adam and Eve?"

Hastur's nearly naked wings twitch. He's surrounded by blood and feathers. "I saw them. I don't know how." His eyes wander. "They're going to ruin everything."  
"I'm glad we're of a same mind, love."

* * *

Beelzebub stands on their toes to meet Dagon's eyes. "You did what?"  
Dagon straightens his back. His scales seem to flutter nervously. "We lost him."

Their swarm of flies grows angry. "How doezzz one lozzze a demon like Hastur?" They demand. "I told you to have someone keep an eye on him at all timezzz!"  
"We were, ser! He just...Disappeared!"  
"Did you look at the obzzzervation filezzz?"  
"You know I have..."

Beelzebub storms back to their desk. "Find him. He'zzz unhinged. He'll break the truce or worse."

"Yes, ser." Dagon leaves the room as the swarm grows. 

* * *

Each feather sizzles and pops as it lands.

"You really ought not to leave whole fonts of the stuff laying out like this."

His captive does not answer.

Hastur, Duke of Hell, stands with burning feet in a lovely little church somewhere in Scotland...Or maybe Ireland? He can't be fucked to remember.

He smiles twisted and black. Blood leaks from his eyes and nose and mouth and ears. Consecrated ground is ever so dangerous especially if a demon spends too much time within it.

It has only been a few hours...Or has it been days? It doesn't matter.

"It's rude not to answer. Ligur taught me that." He rips a primary feather from his wings. Blood gushes from the hole left behind as the force of the pull rips out a feather next to it. "Ah. Blood feather then." He drops the massive feather onto the surface of the golden holy water font. It pops and hisses and shrivels until it is nothing.

His captive is silent.

Hastur turns in annoyance to face the still dressed skeleton. It wears a cassock. The clerical collar slowly slips from around its neck and clatters to the ground. The sound echos in the silent church.

"Rude. You humans are always so fuckin' rude."

He turns back to the font. He's surrounded by a puddle of his own blood and vomit. The blood loss threatens to discorporate him.

He grabs the edges of the golden vessel and stares into the water. He's met with manic black eyes. His blood drips into the water. It smokes and hisses. With all the calmness of a saint, he removes his coat and scarf. He plucks his frog from his head and fondly pats it as he places it upon the pile of clothing.

Hastur, Duke of Hell dunks his hands into the water.

He screams.

He leans in deeper as his hands and arms melt away.

He loses his voice.

He leans in further still and water splashes his chest and his outsides start to melt away.

His mouth foams black and he gags on his own melting flesh. His body shakes and seizes and finally, finally, he is nothing.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s cold and dark. In the distance, he sees glimmering lights. They might be stars or they might be something else entirely.

Time passes, perhaps. Perhaps it stands still. It’s cold but not dark anymore. He gasps and convulses and suddenly, suddenly he feels alive. The space around him is all white and so bright. It’s too bright.

He manages to roll onto his stomach. He vomits and water splashes from between his lips. Holy Water.

“Hastur?”

He's suddenly helped onto his knees by familiar hands. Everything is too bright and the air is too clean and it's too silent and it's all too much. Those same hands grab his own before he can rip into his flesh.

"Hastur!"

Ligur kneels before him. His hair is carefully groomed and free of any reptilian influence. His eyes shift from one shade of blue to another. He's dressed in a pale coat and trousers. There's no hint of filth or muck anywhere.

He can't speak. It's too much to speak. This is another dream. He lurches forward to cling to the other man-shaped being. He sobs out weak moans and whimpers. The arms holding him tight feel all too real.

In time he relaxes. The sound of expensive shoes on expensive flooring snap him out of his panic-induced stupor.

"Well, this is unexpected."


	7. Chapter 7

He is dressed in pale clothing that he does not favor though the soft, heavy green scarf looped around his neck makes up for the plain color palette.

Everything outside is too bright, but this room is dimmed. The walls are white. Everything is white. He can't imagine how they stand it. Even Hell had a bit of color in all its grey.

"What did you do to yourself, pretty thing?"

He glances up at the being who is using his thumbs to stroke over the black gems lining his cheeks. That same being had pressed those gems there so many millennia ago. That being had led him to this room and so carefully dressed him and brushed his hair.

"You was dead. Kept seeing you everywhere." His voice is hoarse to his own ears.

"I was dead." Ligur strokes his hair. It's soft and pure white and sticks out despite being brushed. "I was in some black place and then I ended up here."  
"As an angel."  
"Yeah. Wild shit. Don't know what happened. HR says my file showed up again and next thing they knew I was here."

"It's bright." Hastur loops his arms around the other male-being. He smells like moon dust, but the smell isn't familiar anymore. "Cold. All this damn white. It wasn't like this before."  
"You'll get used to it. Better than being down there. No leaky pipes, yeah?"  
"No leaky pipes..."

* * *

She had sent her condolences. She had obscured his observation files. She had suggested the church.

Michael inspects him as she had once inspected her troops. She is tiny, petite and softspoken, but she makes him feel very, very small. "This is interesting, isn't it?"

They are alone. He doesn't like that at all.

"I expected that you would simply become Extinct. I assumed that Ligur's return was part of the Antichrist's resetting of the world." She stops in front of him. She wears silk chiffon as though it's armor and the silver of her cheeks is warpaint.

"But you knew." The bright light hurt his dark eyes. Heaven had once been a land of soft clouds and floating stardust. There had been color and softness where there were now harsh angles and bright lights. "You could've told me. Instead, you let me die."

The archangel cocks her head. Her finely groomed eyebrows furrow briefly. "And what could you have done, hm? Ligur could have told you at any time. We have the truce. The line was still open." She walks around him again and tuts.

"Extinction was the best option, but Heaven has gained an asset." She stops behind him. He resists the urge to turn around. "What do you see, Hastur?"  
His eyes flick to the wide windows that line the outer wall of Michael's office. Every wonder of the world is laid out before them. Nothing stands out.

She steps up next to him then. He glances down at the perfectly polished floor.

Watchers were made to see what the others could not. In their reflections, he sees his wings, or what might have once been his wings. He is left with nothing but flesh covered bones. He has no feathers.   
"Deception." His eyes wander to her wings. A single, long black primary mars the otherwise perfectly groomed pair.

She smiles, oblivious. "And you will help me root out that deception, won't you? Always helpful, Hastur. Always loyal."

He flexes the grotesque things attached to his celestial form. How can she not see them? "Loyal. Yeah."


	8. Chapter 8

Ligur had always been fond of pet names. Long ago, before they had lost their true names, he had said that the name hadn’t quite fit Hastur. He called him his pretty thing. He called him his love. He called him his gem.

In Hell, nothing truly changed. He called him his pox. He called him his sin. He called him his maggot. Each word was spoken with a quiet fondness reserved for the privacy of the quarters.

“You’re just as gorgeous as you were all those years ago, pretty thing.” Ligur strokes the black gems that accent his cheeks. He remembers the day Ligur had crushed stone by hand to form them. The humans would one day call it black jet. Hastur remembered blushing and trying to hide his face from the smile on the other creature's face.

Things had been simpler then.

It doesn't feel right to be called pretty thing anymore. The scent of moon dust that somehow lingered on the angel's skin is not a comfort. The softness of his eyes makes him shiver.  
They were meant to be demons. They were never good at being angels. Ligur was too stubborn and foolhardy. Hastur was too violent and scared of his own powers. This wasn't where they were meant to be.

"It's back, is it?"

He had learned rather abruptly that he was the last of them: the Watchers. The others had Fallen, apparently, but had been wiped out in the Flood centuries ago. He couldn't remember ever seeing his brothers and sisters in Hell. He didn't question things. He knew he would get no answers.

"Mmhm." He closes his eyes. The quarters are dimmed. Unlike Hell, the angels were expected to do without sleep, but there were given small rooms to call their own. He wasn't sure what the point was. Ligur had found a bed or perhaps made one and they had been laying together for hours or days or weeks.

"Fully?"

And he had learned that Michael and Ligur were seemingly obsessed with the return of his full power. He had always been able to see things, but as a demon, the power of his sight was dulled. He'd always seen that which his fellow demons could not. Some claimed it lead to madness, but he'd always been that way.

"I've told you yes." He snaps out the reply. His eyes open and narrow in their own way. "Don't ask again." He sits up and leans back against the wall.

Ligur sits up as well. He frowns and his eyes shift from one color to the next. Hastur had seen his wings on the polished floor. They were white, but the tips no longer shifted in color as they once had. They were black as though they'd been dipped in ink.

"I only want to help you, Hastur. I know what it does to you...to see so much." He reaches out to strokes his cheek again. There is a flash of sweet, rose-scented perfume that comes from a memory he can't see or understand, but he knows he doesn't like it.

He smacks the gentle hand away. Seeing things had come naturally. He had been assigned to the Moon Builders and so he saw every transgression perpetrated by those angels.

Ligur would always be a Moon Builder.

"You fucked her."

Always blunt, Hastur was. He felt a sudden boiling burst of rage in his stomach. It traveled up and up to his mouth where it manifested as an ugly snarl. The angel Hastur had felt this before and he had almost missed the blind rage of an angel too mad for Heaven.

He had never been a good angel.

"You fucked her! You fucked her!" He lunged and had Ligur on his back with his pale hands grasping at his lapels. His horrid, naked wings flew from their celestial hiding place.

Ligur claws at Hastur's arms and hands. "Hastur! Hastur! Control yourself!" He hisses.  
"Admit it." Hastur snarled. His eyes were blown wide and nearly solid black.  
"Hastur!"  
"Say it! You fucked her! You fucked her, you bastard!"

Hastur's grip loosened as his partner spoke: "I did. I did, alright?"

* * *

"You'll get in trouble for saying that." He whispered.  
"I would gladly accept my punishment."

The borehole turned nest was dark and warm. Clean feathers and soft clouds lined the hard stone. The stone would one day be part of the Moon, but for now, it was a refuge for a shy Watcher and his mate.

"And what would happen anyway, huh? She doesn't notice us. She just tells the big ones how to control us little ones." Ligur holds him close as they press together. His rough hands are gentle as they play with the newly grown feathers of Hastur's previously destroyed wings.  
"Something bad." He replies. He can sense it in the dark. Something black has hovered around them since Ligur first spoke to Lucifer.

The Lightbringer does not shine like he once did.

Ligur presses a kiss to his forehead. "Whatever happens will happen to me. You have done nothing, Hastur."  
"...I don't do my job. I misuse my powers." He feels his nails starting to bite into the flesh of his hands. His body is littered with scars the healers either can't heal or refuse to heal; he can't tell which.

"You do what I ask." Ligur forces his fingers into Hastur's to lace them together. The blood never seems to bother him. "I am to blame." His smile is knowing. Something is coming and it's coming soon.

"Did you...really mean it, what you said?" He squeezes the other angel's hands firmly. He's always so warm where Hastur feels cold.  
"I love you more than I love Her. I would crash the Moon into that creature she loves so much if it would make you smile." Ligur speaks with a devotion no angel should feel for anything but the Almighty.

Hastur smells brimstone and feels the heat of flames that aren't there. He won't have a name for these things for some time, but he will always remember that moment.

"I would follow you anywhere." He leans in and kisses him. "You're the only thing I care about."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](unbreakable-groundriot.tumblr.com/). Every comment is appreciated and I try to reply to them all no matter how small!
> 
> This fic borrows some ideas from my fic [beelzebub has a devil put aside for me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19906960), but you don't need to read it to understand this story.


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